


The Jour-Man Cometh

by Adiaphory



Series: It's Always Sunny in Hetalia [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Acting, Human Names, Musical, Parody, The Nightman Cometh, Unrequited Love, it's always sunny - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adiaphory/pseuds/Adiaphory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the shenanigans the owners of the shabby Axis Powers Bar get into with all these idiots surrounding them!</p><p>The gang work together in a musical Francis creates in an attempt to get the attention of The Waiter! Unfortunately the actors are less than professional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jour-Man Cometh

The Axis Powers bar was desolate as ever, being working hours for most people. This, however, was no deterrent to Francis. No one really knew how he had so much free time, being a waiter with a very consistent schedule, yet no one questioned it. No one ever saw him working except on days like today.

“You have a job, don’t you?” The blonde German asked, eyeing the French patron.

“ _Oui_ , but I’m on break.”

“You’ve been here for an hour.”

“You got me,” he laughed. “I… how you say… do not have a job.”

Feliciano and Kiku stumbled through the doors of their supply room, each carrying dusty boxes full of replacement wear. Ludwig remained behind the bar counter, eyes wide. “You were fired?”

“Fired? Heavens, no. I never worked there.”

The Italian pried a box open, asking through wimpy grunts, “You didn’t? But you served me pasta last week when I came by.”

Picking up his glass of (light) beer, Francis sighed and looked at nothing in particular with a starry look and unfocused eyes. “I was pretending to work there….”

“Why?” Kiku asked.

The double doors to the bar _banged_ open, smacking the walls and shaking the closer tables. In stormed Arthur, the stuffy British man they all knew because he worked at a close café they liked to stop by before work occasionally.

“What the hell is this?” he cried, holding up a sheet of paper in Francis’s face.

“I think you know that already, sweet _Angleterre_ ,” Francis purred.

Ludwig snatched the paper from the Brit, examining it. It was a love note, written entirely in French. It reeked of cologne and even had a few water stains on it from (hopefully) said perfume.

“You’re disgusting! I will _never_ want to have anything to do with you, you bloody wanker! So stop trying to talk to me! Stop leaving me letters! And for the love of god, stop coming by the café when I’m working! You scare off the other customers!”

Francis blinked. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about us, Arthur.”

“I don’t feel _anything_ but contempt for you.”

The three co-owners of the bar watched as the scene unfolded. Sometimes owning a shabby bar in a trashy part of town really paid off.

“How about this?” Francis stood gracefully from his stool, pushing his glass to Ludwig and approaching Arthur. “I won’t bother you anymore, not even a _single_ phone call from a pay phone, if you do one thing for me.”

Arthur’s face was flushed red with his anger. “And what would that be, _frog_? What do I have to do to _get you out of my life forever_?”

“See my play.”

The glass shattered, being dropped in absolute shock by the usually-steady German. Feliciano and Kiku watched intently, forgetting their busy work with the unstocking of the extra toothpicks and napkins buried deep within the boxes.

“Please tell me that isn’t a euphemism.”

“Well, it is a musical to be exact,” Francis supplied. “I have worked very hard on creating this masterpiece. I thought someone as philosophical and refined as a Brit would be able to see it and truly understand the deeper meanings and the subplots. _S'il vous plaît, mon ami_? Only you could truly understand it. I need you there.”

“…then you’ll leave me alone?”

“Oui.”

“Forever?”

“Oui.”

“All I have to do…. Is watch this musical you’ve created? Just once, then you’re gone?”

“That is correct, _mon ami_.”

The younger man stood in contemplation, weighing his options, eventually coming to the most logical conclusion. “Alright then.” Without another word he turned on his heel, walking away from the men. Francis watched his ass in awe, loving how cute the café apron made the little blonde look. He took his seat once more, in a happy daze to finally get his crush to agree to see him, even if it was for the last time.

Having cleaned the glass up, Ludwig rejoined the situation. “Kiku, please go back and find the box of glasses.” The Japanese man nodded and headed back. “And Francis, what the hell?”

Francis was shook from his daydream. “What?”

“A play?” The German scoffed. “What was that, some last minute scheme to win the waiter’s heart?”

“I take offense to that, _Allemand_. I worked very hard on this musical!”

“Really? Dummkopf.”

“Really!”

“You can’t even write in English! What, is it all in French?”

“No! I had a translator help with the hard parts. _Honhonhon_.”

Time passed and Francis had left the bar, returning with an actual script. An actual, typed, printed, English script. He easily convinced Feliciano to help him with the performance, in desperate need for actors.

“ _S'il vous plaît_ , Kiku? Ludwig? I need more actors and with Feliciano I still am short! I cannot cut any of these roles, they’re all very important to the plot!”

“No,” they hummed, trying to look busy with cleaning the bar.

Feliciano was bouncing around in a booth, looking over the script. “Oh, come on, Luddy!” He chirped. “This looks real fun! Give it a chance.”

“Nein.”

The small Italian’s smile faded. He always wanted to do fun things with Ludwig, though the man made it very difficult to do anything fun. His idea of fun was _jogging_ and _hitting the gym_ and _watching the history channel!_ “I’ll work all the night shifts for the next week!”

His coworkers perked up. They _hated_ the night shift.

“But in return you two have to do the play with me.”

Ludwig and Kiku exchanged a quick glance before echoing, “Deal.”

* * *

  ** _It's Always Sunny in Hetalia_**

_The Jour-Man Cometh_

* * *

 

“No way,” Ludwig groaned. “Really? My brother?”

Francis nodded. “He had that certain _je ne sais quoi_ that I was looking for!”

“You’re sick.”

As part of being in the play, the actors had to meet up daily for hours of cramming for their parts, building the set, and finding costumes that weren’t totally disgusting and moldy. And though Francis had plenty of costumes, predominantly cloaks in bright colors and pantaloons, the cast didn’t want to risk wearing something of his without a thorough inspection from a black light and a few trips to the cleaners.

“Come, everyone!”

“That’s what she said,” Gilbert shouted out, laughing. He caught a glare from his younger brother as they marched to the Frenchman.

“Now everyone, have you gone over your parts? You must _feel_ your character! Become method actors if you must and provide for me the best play in this world!”

Germany scoffed, “This is ridiculous. This is just some sham of a play you’re forcing us into so you can impress the waiter.”

“ _Au contraire, mon frère_!” Francis flipped his hair and pranced to the tall German. “This is a play by the people, for the people! And if the waiter happens to see it, then that’s lovely coincidence!”

“YOU BRIBED HIM.”

“ _Honhon_ , nothing gets past you!”

Meanwhile Gilbert and Antonio stood back while they went over their lines. Antonio flipped through his packet, eyeing the play as he went through the pages. “Hey, Gil, what part did you get?”

“The awesome me got…” he narrowed his eyes as he found the page with the cast and characters neatly printed. “…the troll? How unawesome! Francis, what the hell?” His eyes narrowed at what he saw to be an insult. “You made me the _troll?!_ Mein face is much too awesome for this insult!”

Ludwig groaned at his brother’s outburst.

“You have the perfect making for the complexity of the troll!”

Antonio gasped. “You got the troll? I got _Nuit-Man_ , want to trade?”

“Nuit-Man? Sounds awesome!”

Francis stuttered. “No, you can’t just trade parts!”

“Already did,” the Prussian snickered. “Everyone bow down to your leading man!”

“Actually, _Jour-Man_ is the lead,” Feliciano supplied. “And I’m the leading lady!”

The men chattered for a while about their parts while Francis fumed in the background. The silent Japanese man stood by, looking at the stage queues he was given. Times like now he felt lucky to be “too soulless to act” and was given the job of being in charge of lights and curtain-pulling.

“Also, Frenchy,” Prussia called. “I decided my character is going to be the awesomest of them all. He’s also a master of battle.”

Francis turned to the stoic man, raising his hand above his head. “I am up to _here_ with these idiots!”

Kiku sighed, knowing his pain in dealing with unending streams of nonsense.

Doing his best to compose himself, Francis spoke up again. “Actors, get on stage! We’ll begin going over lines while we wait for our pianist to arrive!”

Feliciano, Gilbert, Antonio, and Ludwig each stepped onto the stage, folding script pages back and studying their lines while Francis and Kiku watched from the ground. The four stood on stage, stumbling over their lines and confusing one-another with their varied accents changing random words.

After much cringe-filled “acting,” Francis announced they would be doing their songs now that their pianist finally arrived.

Roderich sauntered into the near-empty auditorium, avoiding the random folding chairs they had set up and sitting down in front of the chipped piano. He caught Ludwig’s eye, and they shared an understanding nod, automatically knowing they each had been forced into this some way or another.

He began to play and Antonio and Gilbert began to sing.

“You have to pay the troll toll,” Antonio sang. “If you want to get into that boy’s— _woah_ , I can’t say that!”

“FOR THE LAST TIME, IT DOESN’T SAY ‘HOLE.’”

“Really? It looks a lot like—”

“ **JUST SING**.”

Gilbert snickered at the mistake. “Here’s your toll, _troll_.”

Next Ludwig came onto the stage and they practiced their group scene, with a table on the stage to act as a bed with a Snuggie™ on top. Antonio and Ludwig walked to it, gently acting out a small scuttle ending with the Spaniard pushing the blonde on the table (though slowly as not to hurt each other).

“Hey,” Antonio called out. “Francis! I think here we should move the blanket on top of Ludwig. That way the next scene is much classier!”

After quickly reading through the page Ludwig hummed in agreement. “Yes, I agree. We need to hide the act itself from the audience.”

“It makes it a classy rape,” Antonio smiled.

Francis twitched. “IT IS NOT A RAPE SCENE! It’s a domination of—”

“Here, like this,” Antonio called out as he threw the Snuggie™ on Ludwig, crawling under it with him. He moved around making it look, at the least, extremely suggestive. “Classy!”

Gilbert watched from the side, murmuring, “Yes, that’s how we’ll do it! Awesome, Antonio!”

Francis took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He didn’t expect this play to be so soul-crushing to create, especially with his actors all trading parts and taking ‘smoke breaks’ when he knew for a fact none of them smoked. And now this—these idiots misconstruing his artistic genius!

A tugging on his sleeve made him look over to see Feliciano looking confused. “ _Scusie_ , Francis?”              

“Oui?”

“Why am I playing a girl?”

“Because, _mon cher_ , you’re the loveliest of all these men. Besides that, men used to play the part of women all the time back in olden days!”

“Like that time when we played ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at your house alone even though no one was watching us?”

“…a little like that, _oui_.”

“But we don’t need me to be the girl,” Feliciano stated. “Can’t we change the part of princess to a prince instead—”

“ _NO, IT HAS TO BE A GIRL_.”

Everyone in the room stopped for a moment, looking over at Francis after his outburst.

“Just trust me, little Feli,” Francis said, fuming again and mumbling to himself. _“I am up to here…”_

* * *

 It was now opening night of the musical and everyone was scrambling around backstage, looking for props or helping each other with costumes and make-up.

“Check this out, West,” Gilbert hummed. Ludwig turned around, buttoning his adult onesy to see his brother swiftly opening his eyes. He wore contacts making his eyes bright red and, now, like a snake. “Awesome, right?”

“ _Mein gott_ , I hope you’re adopted.”

“LUDWIG!” The brothers both cringed when the bubbly Italian came running. Their jaws dropped when they saw him run out from the dressing area, wearing a fluffy green dress and a white apron and bandana on his head. “Do you like my dress?”

“You look like a girl,” Ludwig stammered. A confused blush spread across his face. Damn his German heritage and inability to understand emotions or men in drag.

“Am I a pretty girl?” he batted his eyelashes.

With a groan, Ludwig muttered, “Ja, you’re beautiful.” A scoff to his right alerted him to Roderich, who had been passing by and heard everything. His blush deepened as embarrassment took over. And being a grown man in a onesy caught telling another man in a dress he was beautiful was fifty shades of _kill me now_.

Francis was scurrying around, dressed in a black turtle-neck and matching ribbon tying his hair. “Kiku, you have lights and curtains! Feli, straighten your apron! Roderich, if you play Nocturne Opus _so help me god_! Ludwig, put some eyeliner on!”

Soon they all gathered up and got in place, ready to start. Kiku also had to wear all black to stay hidden during his crew work, eliciting random (German) remarks about his likeness to ninjas. Francis hurried to the curtains, looking through the opening and spotting Arthur, who had just arrived and was taking his seat in the front.

“Alright,” he hissed to the actors. “Don’t embarrass me!” He motioned his hand and Roderich began playing on his piano while Feliciano and Ludwig stood alone on stage on opposite ends. The curtains opened and spotlights shone on the two. Ludwig felt a new wave of humiliation crash over him as everyone saw him in eyeliner and a onesy.

The piano played and Feliciano began his movements, humming to himself, “What is this strange feeling?”

“I feel so _seltsam_ inside.” Ludwig felt so _humiliated_ inside.

“It’s so _strano_ but appealing.”

“I feel _gut_.” _God, kill me now._

The music picked up as they began their weird dance toward and away from each other. “ _Tiny boy, little boy, garçon, I need you. Tiny boy, little boy, I want to touch you boy._ ”

“ _If you only knew, vhat I’d do to you, if I was that boy that’s inside of you_.”

“ _Tiny boy, little boy, garçon, I need you. Tiny boy, little boy, want to make pasta!_ ”

“ _If you only knew vhat I’d do to you, if I was that boy that’s inside of you_.”

“ _Boy, oh boy, oh **pasta**_ …”

“ _Oh boy_ ,” Ludwig face-palmed on stage as he and the young Italian finished their opening song, now facing each other in an awkward embrace. Feliciano’s face was growing red from stepping over his lines so suddenly.

Backstage Antonio and Gilbert were watching the play fall apart in seconds. Beside them stood a frantic Kiku trying to pull curtains and also work the lights while Francis looked ready to explode.

“What is happening?” Antonio whispered, genuinely confused at the mistakes.

Francis held on to his director’s copy of the script, slowly tearing at it with white knuckles and a steel grip. “Keep singing bitch, _you’ll never eat pasta again by the time I’m done with you_.”

“What the hell is Feli doing?”

Gilbert laughed, far too amused at this. “He’s bombing like crazy. I’m not surprised. Little Feli had to skip lunch for extra practice. That boy’s mind would be set solely on pasta.”

In the background Francis was storming away with Kiku watching worriedly.

“What an idiot. I look awesome though, right?” he batted his silver eyelashes and showed off his contacts.

“You look like a _puta,_ ” the Spaniard deadpanned.

“I’m going for gasps!” Gilbert cried. “I want to make the kids here cry.” 

“There are no children here, Gil.”

Feliciano hurried past the men, looking exasperated and nervous. He caught Gilbert’s eye, swiftly screaming from the shock of their ‘scary costumes’ and running away to hide with frantic cries in Italian.

“Okay, whatever. Feliciano doesn’t count, _tonto_.”

They waited for their cue from Kiku before they slinked onto the dark stage. Kiku stood by with Francis, who had to take a smoke break to calm down (déjà vu), watching as their Troll and Nuit-Man made their entrance.

“We’re getting a lot of laughs,” Kiku remarked. “That’s good.”

“That’s not good! This isn’t a comedy! Those fools are blowing it!”

On stage the actors crept to the center, where Ludwig was on the makeshift bed. Gilbert peered at the body and Antonio turned to him, swishing his long robes and fake beard. “There he is, sleeping. Just like you like them. Do you have the toll?”

“Screw your lousy toll, troll.” The audience laughed at his motions, snapping his hands. He groaned. “Goddamn it.”

“You have to pay the Troll Toll if you wanna get into that boy’s _pantalones_!” Antonio smiled and did his weird hobbit jig around the bed while Ludwig tried his best to pretend this was all some nightmare.

Gilbert chuckled as the song began. At least the awesome him didn’t have to sing! _Yet_ …

_“Hello, passion doesn’t stop!_

_Olé! Olé! I’m the Boss after all!_

_I’ll protect everything I care, no matter what!_

_Hang on, hang on, hang on! You have to pay the troll toll, Nuit-Man!_

_I’ll show you a fabulous place!_

_The long, long, pilgrimage way_

_The heart emerges and reveals—the Troll Toll!”_

Gilbert scoffed, stepping closer to Ludwig and passing a coin to Antonio. “Here’s your toll, Troll.” Then he jumped into the bed, on top of his brother, who was having a very difficult time not flipping his shit and leaving right then and there.

Meanwhile in the audience Arthur was growing annoyed with this waste of a perfectly good night he could be using to work on his needlework! And a few rows back sat another guest, invited by Antonio: Lovino. And as the play progressed, Lovino cringed more and more.

“That jerk bastard just _had_ to sing about being the boss.”

The three men stood on stage, in rocking chairs and beds, Ludwig acting out manual house labor while Gilbert and Antonio sat around and threw commands at him. Gilbert then hurried off stage, forgetting this scene didn’t need him.

“Hey, _puta_ ,” Antonio called out. “Come here and scratch my toes.”

 _Kill me now kill me now kill me now kill me now—_ “Nein!”

“You have to, I’m the boss!”

“I WILL NOT,” Ludwig cried, forgetting he was on stage.

“Get over here!”

“ _Nein_ , Antonio! I am not your slave anymore! And I am not a boy!” He ripped his onesy off, revealing his under-costume, which they forgot to find so it was just his black tank top and work khakis. “I am a man, see? And I was transformed by the weak, infuriating power of true _liebe_. And I am now… the _Jour-Man_!”

Kiku’s shaking hand emerged from behind some curtains, handing Ludwig a prop grenade.

“What the hell is that?” Antonio asked, faking confusion.

“You know what it is, dummkopf.” Ludwig tossed it at the Spaniard, who was then covered in red silly-string from Kiku, who had to run behind the curtains to get to him.

“Bam,” Ludwig said half-heartedly.

Gilbert hurried back onto the stage, hissing, “Where is the boy?”

“The boy is gone.”

“ _You can’t tell me what to do_!”

Ludwig eyed him, stage-whispering back, “You skipped a line.”

“I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS WITH MY AWESOME STRENGTH.”

“What—” Ludwig was caught off guard by his brother jumping on him, something they never rehearsed, now adlibbing a completely new fight scene.

“I AM THE AWESOME RULER OF DARKNESS!” the Prussian cried.

“AND I AM THE JOUR-MAN.” They were in an actual fight now, throwing punches and kicking shins. They began to draw blood and rip their costumes. Soon Ludwig threw Gilbert down, ripping a fake heart from his shirt and holding it high for the audience to see.

There was a stunned silence at the scene. Then, loud applause at the misconception that their fight was _finally_ some good acting! Gilbert lay limply on the ground, giving his dying gasps.

Feliciano twirled onto stage, approaching the German. “You have defeated the evil!”

He threw the heart away, replying in a bored voice, “ _Ja_ , I am the Jour-Man.”

“You were a boy but now you can consent, so I am in love with you!”

“Ich liebe dich,” he replied.

And now, their final song. Ludwig was so close to being home and not working the nightshift at the bar, he could just taste it. Their ‘dead’ partners stood up, joining in.

_“Jour-Man! Ah!_

_Fighter of the Nuit-Man! Champion of the sun!_

_You’re a master of grenades and friendship for everyone!”_

The audience clapped, though it was mostly a courtesy. The actors were ready to leave the stage when the piano began playing again, with a tune they hadn’t heard before. Out of absolutely nowhere, a golden platform was lowered from the rafters. On it was Francis, dressed in all yellow and sitting atop a similarly colored chair. He smirked and began his secret end song, watching Arthur as he sang.

_“I was that little boy, that little baby boy was me!_

_I once was a boy, but now I am a man!_

_I fought the Nuit-Man, lived as Jour-Man,_

_Now I’m here to ask for your hand._

_So if you want to marry man, will you marry me?_

_Well come on stage and join me,_

_In this thing called matrimony!_

_Please say yes and do not bone me,_

_Please just marry me!”_

He ended with pulling a marriage registration form from his pocket and extending it, rolled up like a bouquet, bent on one knee at the end of the stage, toward Arthur.

Said Brit stood from his seat with a blank expression. “Is it over?”

“ _Quoi_?”

“Is the play over?”

“Well, oui—”

“Alright. I’m going to my flat.”

“You… you didn’t answer the question.”

The blonde sighed and tried to ignore the burning embarrassment in his neck. “Will I marry you? No, Francis. I will not marry you. Not now, not ever. This has to be a joke, but it’s not April Fools.”

“But I put on this entire play for you!”

“And that’s _your_ problem. I held up my end of the bargain so I never have to see you again.” He turned his back and started walking up the aisle toward the door.

Francis stood up, calling out, “I never signed anything, so I’ll see you tomorrow, _mon amour_!”

The crowed began to filter out as the actors walked off stage together. Antonio and Gilbert walked along with Francis, mumbling about how fun it was.

“I think the rape scene went really well,” Gilbert said.

Francis squeaked an irritated noise. “I swear to God if I hear Ivan talking about it I am going to smack you.”

At the other end of the stage Kiku was meeting with his coworkers, tired out from all the running around. The three walked out together after Feliciano changed out of his dress. The Italian was talking animatedly about wanting pasta for dinner. The other two sighed, just wanting to get out of there and get back home.

As they walked out, all that was left was Roderich. He smiled, amazed at how much his old students have grown since he was a gym teacher. Noticing the mess the Italian left, he went to pick up the forgotten clothes and put them back on hangers. He paused when he picked up the dress, touching the soft green skirting.

“I really do miss when they were little,” he smiled nostalgically. “Man, I should have diddled Feliciano when I had the chance.”


End file.
